


Inauguration Day

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1854, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: May 1854. Eliza Hamilton's great-grandson brings her back to the house she'd once shared with her husband, eager to hear the story of the first Inauguration Day.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 14
Kudos: 74





	Inauguration Day

**May 1854**

“Allow me, Mother Hamilton,” Eliza’s daughter-in-law, Johnny’s dear Maria, encouraged, holding her elbow out for Eliza as they made their way up the stoop of the ancient Wall Street residence.

“I’m not so feeble as that, my dear,” Eliza refused, using the railing to pull herself up the last few steps. How many times had she raced up these steps, carrying baskets and children, hurrying here and there on errands of all kinds? She’d not stumble now, when age was her only burden. 

“The house is empty,” Eliza’s great-grandson, another Alexander Hamilton in a long line, was explaining as he unlocked the front door. “The owners said they didn’t mind a bit. In fact, I think they were rather excited themselves when I told them why we were coming.”

The reason for this visit to the past was rather less exciting for her, she thought, but she held her tongue. She had a duty to tell the stories of the country’s history to the best of her ability so long as breath filled her lungs. To think, all those throngs of people who had gathered along Wall and Broadway to catch a glimpse of the revered General Washington as he was sworn in as the nation’s first president, and somehow she was the only one left alive who could tell the tale.

“A bit dusty,” Alex commented as he stepped into the foyer. “Is it bringing back any memories for you, Grandmama Hamilton?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed, eyes skating across the empty foyer.

Eliza closed her eyes and could almost hear the excited buzz filling the street behind her. People had gathered outside so early that morning that Washington’s coach could hardly make it to their house. Sporadic huzzahs had broken out and carried down the street in either direction, the thrill of the historic moment alive in the air.

The sound had carried up, as well, through the windows to the second floor. All the children had been bundles of energy, she remembered, the thrill of the moment affecting them as much as anyone on the street below. Philip particularly had been so excited by the general to-do, she practically had to pull him off the window ledge as he’d leaned out to watch for the President’s coach.

Only Alexander had slept through the hubbub that morning. She could still see his eyes moving beneath their lids in a dream, his hand reposing on the pillow by his face, sunlight streaming through the curtains to dapple the quilt and the floorboards. So peaceful. So beautiful. Baby Jamie had been heavy in her arms as she’d watched her husband sleep from the doorway to their bedroom, his milky breath and wispy hair tickling her nose.

“Was Washington here that morning?” her grandson asked. 

The ghost of childish laughter echoed in the empty space around her.

Washington had arrived earlier than expected, and the children had beaten her and Alexander down to the door. Angelica had looked up at the imposing commander with astonishment as she’d announced, “You’re tall.”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Washington had agreed, a little smile playing on his lips.

He’d stood just where Eliza was standing now.

“Can I see your sword?” Pip had asked, his little hands already reaching out to grab at the sword hanging from Washington’s hip. “Did you use it in battle? Did you kill anyone with it?”

“Philip!” Alexander had jumped to pull his son away to a more respectable distance.

“That’s General Washington,” her dear little Alex had announced to her, pointing up at Washington as he spoke. “He’s in our stories.”

“Yes, he is,” she’d agreed, trying to encourage the three-year-old back into some semblance of a greeting line.

“Stories?” Washington repeated, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You may have made an appearance in some of their bedtime stories,” Alexander had admitted, a hint of color in his cheeks. “They’re about me, of course. You just happened to be there.”

“Of course,” Washington had agreed.

“Does that mean the talking mice are real, too?” Alex had asked innocently.

She’d tried to stifle a laugh. “No, sweetheart. Just General Washington. Now, hush.”

She could almost feel his sweaty palm in hers.

Maria and Alex were watching her closely when her wandering mind returned to the present. They were waiting for her to tell them her recollections. She sighed.

The most vivid memories, the dearest, were not ones that would interest her great-grandson. Her silly children, Alexander’s relaxed face as he slept, the way Washington’s eyes had lit up when he was teasing her husband. Those intimate moments, she keeps to herself.

“General Washington did pay us a visit that morning before carrying on to Federal Hall. So much excitement that day, you could hardly move on the street. He invited your great-grandfather to join him at St. Paul’s on Fulton Street after the inauguration.”

Alex looked about the foyer, as though trying to catch a glimpse of Washington’s ghost in the room. “Did you go with him up to Federal Hall? Or did grandfather?”

“No. No, we had company. We watched from the upstairs window.”

Alexander had bowed deeply to Washington as he’d departed, promising to see him later at the church, and afterwards for the general festivities as well.

“Who came over?” Alex pressed.

“Mrs. Knox. My sister, Angelica. She was home from London visiting. Some of your grandfather’s friends.” None of these names were illustrious enough to keep ahold of his attention.

“Should we go up?” Alex was already halfway to the stairway as he suggested it.

Maria stayed just behind her, a tacit offer of assistance should she need it to climb yet another set of stairs. The staircase was as narrow and creaky as it had been in her memory. Trying to maneuver a laundry basket had always been a trick, especially with Pip’s little toy soldiers littered all over the steps. She found herself stepping carefully, as though one of them might still be lying in wait all these decades later.

Upon entering the family floor, she felt her breath catch at the sight of the empty nursery. Her gaze tracked to the master bedroom, the route she’d stumbled down so many nights when she’d nursed Alex and Jamie. The floorboards creaked under her feet just the same as they used to, a familiar lullaby.

Her grandson was looking back to her again. “Grandmama? Which room?”

She pointed to what had been the family room, with the wide windows facing Wall Street to allow for a perfect view down to where Federal Hall had once stood. Alex and Maria both moved in that direction. Though she made to follow, she stopped shy of the entry, a sound floating down the hall from the master bedroom stealing her attention.

Humming. Soft, beautiful humming. A jaunty tune she barely recognized, but from a voice that was forever seared upon her heart.

She stepped carefully towards the bedroom, pushing the door fully open. Their bed stood in the center of the room, the lovely floral hangings from her mother pushed back to the posts. The bed itself was unmade, the soft sheets messily flung aside and the pillows all askew. 

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, creating hazy patterns of light on the furniture. The curtains fluttered in the fragrant spring breeze. She could hear the muted buzz of excited onlookers gathering on the street below, breathlessly awaiting the inauguration of their first President. 

A bowl of soapy water sat on her vanity, and a lightweight banyan was folded over the back of the chair. Still following the sound of cheery humming, she poked her head into the dressing room. Alexander was wrapping his cravat around his turned-up collar, his waistcoat loose. His eyes met hers in the mirror, and she saw his whole face crinkle with a smile at the sight of her.

“Finally coming to wake me?” he asked. “About time. At this rate, I would have still been abed when our guests arrived.”

“I wanted to let you sleep.” She recalled clearly keeping an eye on the clock, timing out how long he’d need to ready that morning, trying to let him get as much rest as possible.

“Are the little ones excited? Sounds like quite the crowd has gathered outside already.”

“So excited,” she confirmed. “Pip nearly jumped out the window he was so eager to join the festivities.”

He laughed that low, easy, beloved laugh of his.

Fixing his ruffled cuffs in place, he swung on the dark blue coat he’d had made specially for the occasion, his shoulders rolling as he adjusted to the feel of the new garment. When the buttons were done, he turned and held his arms out for her inspection. “How do I look?”

“Very handsome.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

He stepped forward and tipped his face down over hers to catch her lips. The smell of his soap filled her nose, spiced and sweet, so distinctly him. She’d tried so hard to hold on to that smell, preserving his handkerchiefs, his pillowcase, even washing with his soap once, just to smell him on her skin. Nothing was ever the same.

She drank in his face, glowing in the filtered light from the bedroom.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, the words she’d spoken that day coming easily. 

He’d looked genuinely astonished. “Of me? Whatever for?” 

“The Constitution never would have passed without you. All that hard work you did, writing all those essays, giving all those speeches. This is your day as much as anyone’s.”

“If you say so, my love,” he’d demurred. The slight sheen to his eyes had attested to his appreciation, however.

“I do.” She laid her palms against his chest, warm and solid beneath her hands. He felt so real, standing here before her.

A soft look came over his face as he gazed down at her. He wrapped a curl that had fallen loose from her widow’s cap around his finger and tugged at it gently. “I miss you so much, Betsey.”

She swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat.

“Mother Hamilton?”

Maria’s voice startled her badly.

She turned around in the empty dressing room and found her daughter-in-law watching her from the door.

“Were you talking to someone?”

Eliza looked out at the empty, dusty room. Her arms were still held out to the empty air, and slowly they fell to her sides. “No, dear.”

Maria studied her for a moment. “Are you all right?” 

“Fine. Just…remembering.”

“It must be overwhelming, being back here after all these years.”

“No, not at all,” Eliza said, forcing a smile.

Alex looked in at them from the hallway. “Shall we continue on to Federal Hall, and then on to St. Paul’s? I’d like to visit all the places you went that day.”

“If you like, darling,” Eliza agreed. That was why they were there, after all, to recreate the day and pass along the memories to the younger generations.

“It’s helping your memory, isn’t it? Visiting these places?”

She looked back into the dressing room, that spiced scent lingering in the air. “It’s helping,” she agreed. Perhaps too much. Her hand went to the pouch around her neck, hidden beneath the layers of her widow’s weeds. As much as her husband was always with her, she felt him here in this room far more keenly, like a messenger calling her home.

“I knew it would.” Then Alex was charging off downstairs again, so eager to piece together a story for his own ends.

“Oh, that boy,” Maria sighed, following her grandson’s path from the room.

Eliza closed her eyes again, savoring the moment of peaceful quiet in her old home.

“Soon, my love,” she whispered into the empty air. “Soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a real visit Eliza Hamilton made to her old house on Wall Street with her daughter-in-law and great-grandson, according to an account left by her great-grandson. Her great-grandson was eager to retrace her steps on that day, from the house on Wall Street to Federal Hall to St. Paul's, where Washington received holy communion on the day he was sworn into office. That Eliza went through the effort to travel to New York at such an advanced age to impart that story to her great-grandson, in as accurate a way as she was able at the time, is so admirable, and entirely characteristic of her. To read more about her great-grandson's account, [click here](https://archive.org/details/mrsalexanderhami00hami/page/2/mode/2up).
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! As always, thank you so much for reading, and feedback is greatly appreciated!


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